Some Sweet Delight
by Jane Andrews
Summary: Erotic tales, naughty encounters, and lots of misbehaving
1. Anne and Diana

**Dear Reader,**

 **You are now in the M section, and we both know what that means.**

 **If you find pre-marital sex, same sex, threesomes, or any sex that isn't vanilla offensive, this isn't for you.**

 **But if you've ever found yourself dallying in some erotic imagining about the characters in these books I wrote this with you in mind.**

 **I'm also open to suggestions about new pairings or scenarios for future stories. Please leave your ideas in the review section. I don't PM.  
**

 **~o~**

 **ANNE & DIANA**

Anne emerged from the closet of the rose coloured bedroom of Orchard Slope. The hall clock struck eleven and her voice, which was usually so full of light, became serious and deep.

"He enters the room,' she said, proudly, looking over at her friend. "His tall, commanding figure causing Elizabeth to shudder with tingling anticipation-"

"That's why you must play Darcy, Anne,' Diana said, unbuttoning her nightgown. 'You are so much taller than I am, it wouldn't feel right if it were the other way around."

"Shhh, Diana, if you _must_ speak then speak only as Elizabeth. Otherwise the magic will be lost and may as well put away our Austen and swap jam recipes.' Anne said, firmly, tucking her braid into a knot. "But," she couldn't help but add, "as we have momentarily broken the spell, I must say I would have preferred some proper silk breeches to these sagging long-johns. Promise me you will use your imagination to your utmost powers, darling, and picture me resplendent in a scarlet coat and ivory shirt. My hair is darkest obsidian and my brow furrowed with the deepest fervour-"

"Oh Anne, tell me you love me _most ardently!"_ Diana sighed, as she perched on the stool by her dressing table; her knees tucked primly, her nightgown pulled low over her shoulders.

Anne stood before her and felt that she honestly did. Diana glowed excitedly by the light of one candle. Its flicker darting like tiny tongues of flame over her neck and into the shadow of her bosom. Anne had long been enamored by Diana's swelling breasts. Since the early days of their friendship she had secretly witnessed their blossoming, until they were now so full Anne felt they would have spilled from her hands had she ever tried to cup them. Her own breasts, and much else besides, were notably smaller; another reason why it always fell to Anne to play the man in their little games.

Anne swept to Diana's side and knelt at her feet, looking up at Diana's expectant face.

"In vain I have struggled, it will not do-"

"No, Mr Darcy, it will _not_ ," Diana said, saucily.

"Diana, that is not what Elizabeth says."

Diana put her hand on Anne's cheek and then caressed her long white neck.

"I'm tired of always playing by the book. In this story Elizabeth has decided to be _seduced_ by Mr Darcy," she said. Then bringing her lips to Anne's, she murmured, "Oh Mr Darcy, I love you so very very _ardently_ , kiss me..."

Anne felt Diana's warm lips pressed against hers, she tasted the cloves of her tooth paste and the slightly cloying smell of jasmine that Diana had recently begun to wear. She did not think that Elizabeth Bennet would wear penny perfume, nor give into Mr Darcy's advances quite so readily. But that was before her friend leaped from her stool and clutched her tightly. The feel of Diana's ample breasts pressing into her own was heavenly, as though the softest cloud was wrapping itself around her.

"Oh, Elizabeth, this is wondrous," she whispered, when Diana released her. "I am... I am at a loss for what to do next."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Why, you must carry me to the bed, you ninny!"

For a moment Anne wondered how she would manage such a feat. Diana may have been the shorter of the two, but her figure made up for that in every other way. Her hips, thighs, belly, and bottom were as bountiful as her breasts. Nevertheless, Anne scooped her thin arms around her friend and with an ungainly stagger that would have made Mr Darcy run from the room in shame, managed to bear her lover the short distance to the bed.

The landing was hardly a graceful one, but if Diana minded it never showed. She seemed so different to the demure Diana Anne had always known. Though the light in the bedroom was low, it was obvious that her face was flushed with excitement. Her lips just parted, her eyes dark, her nightgown twisting over her form so that every delectable curve was revealed. Diana seemed to revel in her immodesty, nuzzling her head against her pillow and widening her thighs. Never once did she take her eyes from Anne.

"I-I don't know what should happen next -this isn't in the book-" Anne said, as she tentatively sat on the bed.

"You're supposed to seduce me, silly," Diana replied, and then reaching for Anne's hand she brought it to the open neck of her nightgown.

A low sound came from Anne as she touched Diana's breast. It was more thrilling, more intoxicating than anything Anne had imagined. Instinctively she lowered her face to Diana's, kissing her lips while her hands explored her body. As her touch became more insistent so did their kissing, until her mouth widened with excitement and she felt Diana's tongue flick over her own.

"Oh, sweet Diana, my sweet, sweet Diana," Anne murmured, closing her eyes and sliding her tongue and over her friend's cheek and neck.

Diana smiled softly as she heard her own name slip from Anne's lips, instead of Miss Elizabeth's. But she said nothing, for this was definitely _not_ the time to break such a delicious spell. She moved her hand to her nightgown and slowly pulled it down so that Anne might know where her soft, trembling mouth might visit next.

Anne sighed as Diana revealed what appeared to her as a most decadent dessert. Her breasts looked just like two scoops of velvety ice cream, each topped with a dollop of strawberry mousse and a ripened red current. A more experienced lover might have teased the creamy flesh that surrounded each peak but Anne in her excitement brought her mouth to Diana's nipple, hungrily, her heart thudding as the pointed tip hardened under her tongue.

Diana arched her back, willing Anne to take more of her into her mouth, before pressing Anne's head against her breast and whispering, thickly, "Harder, kiss them harder, Darcy, I beg you."

On being reminded who was supposedly leading this seduction Anne felt a very masculine thrill. She fell upon Diana, and feasted on her greedily, as her friend lay back against her pillow and moaned, "Oh, Mr Darcy, don't stop -don't stop..."

The spirit of that gentleman began to permeate Anne. She was filled with what she imagined a stallion might feel when he mounted his mare, or that bothersome Blythe bull, who bellowed pitifully whenever Dolly passed his meadow. It wasn't enough. She must see every inch of Diana and possess her completely. Anne knelt between her legs, and lifting the hem of her nightgown slipped it from Diana's body. Diana wriggled herself up, the better to hasten its removal, and facing each other the two girls embraced eagerly.

Anne ran her hands over Diana's smooth white back, feeling her muscles writhe under her touch; her curving shoulders, her flaring hips, the luscious rolls of her belly. Her breasts were the shape and weight of heavy fruit. Anne scooped them into her hands and nestled her face between them, stopping only to murmur,

"Oh Elizabeth, my own, you are so lovely!"

"Dear Darcy,' Diana whispered, "it's hardly fair that I am near naked while you are still clothed. Why don't you be a gentleman and remove your ivory shirt and velvet breeches?"

Anne lifted her face in order to remind Diana that the imagined breeches were actually silk, as silken as the bosom she now held in her hands, when a hot blush flooded her cheeks. She felt so scrawny compared to the voluptuous beauty kneeling opposite her. If Elizabeth discovered that under his fine garments Darcy was a rather puny specimen surely it would be a bitter disappointment?

"My dear, that would be most improper, we must consider your honour-" Anne began.

"Nonsense, Darcy," said Diana, reaching for Anne's chemise and releasing the ties at her shoulders. It fell from her as a leaf from a tree but was halted by the tips of Anne's breasts, which jutted out pertly.

"Oh, look at that... let me help you, good sir," and she slid her finger under the chemise and across Anne's hardening nipples.

Anne gasped sharply, as she felt her friend's fingers graze over her slowly and deliberately, beginning to understand how it was the Diana gave into her blisses so quickly.

"Do you like that, darling?" she murmured, and then Anne had the unimagined delight of watching her friend lower her head and take her nipple into her mouth. Anne found herself doing just as Diana had done and pressed her hands to the back of Diana's head, willing her to suck more firmly.

"Oh, Diana, it feels as though a thousand butterflies are flicking their wings all over my skin," Anne moaned, falling back onto the bed.

Diana fell too, and after delighting Anne's other tingling nipple lifted her lips to her ear and said, hotly, " _I_ shall be Darcy now."

She slid down Anne's body, pulling the long-johns with her, so that only the chemise remained, encircling her waist. Anne shivered with anticipation, wondering what the gorgeous girl above her would think of so slight a form. She didn't have to wait long for her answer, as she felt Diana's hand slide over Anne's ribs and caress her jutting hipbones.

"Oh, you're so tiny, I could snap you in two," Diana growled. "I've always loved your darling little breasts, the way they stand up even when you're lying down. And the tips of them," here she tweaked one gently, causing Anne to shiver once more, "are like curled up rosebuds. You smell like roses too. Like a wild musk rose, all bloomy and soft, I want to press my face all over you." And she slid further down, running her satiny cheek and her loose dark hair all over Anne's body.

As her mouth and hands went further Anne's legs parted wider. Diana's face rested between Anne's slender thighs and she felt her panting hotly on her downy mound. Ever since they had begun this game Anne had become aware of a sensuous pulsing emanate from this point, and the nearer Diana got to it the stronger the pulse became. Without knowing what she was doing she raised her hips and murmured desperately,

"Please, take me, I _beg_ you to take me..."

Both girls had heard the expression before, but neither knew exactly what this entailed until now. Diana slipped the tip of her tongue inside Anne and flicked her as she had her nipples. Immediately Anne bucked, and Diana drew away.

"Darling, did I hurt you?" she asked.

"No, no, quite the opposite. It feels so divine, I believe I might die from the pleasure..."

"Try not to die before I have the chance to feel as you do," Diana said, smiling, and then lowering her lips she wriggled her tongue more forcefully.

Anne began to writhe, undulating her hips and pressing Diana's head against her. Diana growing in confidence and overwhelmed with arousal as she felt her friend become swollen and slippery, pinned Anne's thighs wider and then cradled her bottom in order to taste even more of her. With every movement of her tongue Anne whimpered and pleaded, "Don't stop, oh Diana, don't ever, _ever_ stop..."

Eventually Diana felt she must stop lest her parents come into the room demanding to know why they were making so much noise. She tossed her pillow at Anne, who pummelled and squeezed it frantically as she held it over her face. Soon Anne began to quiver and shake, and a long and sensuous groan could be heard, muffled by the goose-down.

Anne was reeling in otherworldly sensation, every part of her from the roots of her red hair to the nails on her feet thundered with her own beating heart. She had barely time to remove the pillow from her head before Diana was tugging at her hand and pulling her into her arms. Anne leaned against her, woozily, her cheeks and brow damp with perspiration, her eyes wide, gazing at Diana with boundless adoration.

"My angel, what did you do to me?" she said, nuzzling against her friend's neck. She could smell her own musky scent on Diana's face and kissed her hard on the mouth.

"Oh, your lips taste so sweet," she said, shyly.

"You taste like a peach, which is hardly surprising when you look so much like one," Diana replied, gleefully, placing her hand on the amber fuzz between Anne's legs.

"Was it really so nice?" Anne asked her, lying her head on her chest.

"You were so lovely and open, I wished I could go further but I didn't want to hurt you."

"You could _never_ do that," Anne vowed, kissing Diana's pink nipples by way of a promise. "When you feel what I have felt, you'll understand it is the very opposite of pain."

"Why a little bit of pain would be alright, don't you think, Anne? We can't expect our menfolk to be as gentle as we are."

"Oh, I would never want _anyone_ to touch me the way you do, beloved. Promise me to always save these blisses just for me. It would kill me to think of some oafish boy feasting on you. No one could _ever_ love you the way I can."

"Show me, then," Diana said, who was growing impatient with Anne's declarations, wishing at this moment for deeds not words. She lay back against her pillow and lifted her hips as Anne slipped her bloomers from her. A triangle of dark curling hair was revealed nestling above two creamy white thighs, which parted slowly.

Anne gazed at Diana in raptures, she seemed to her everything a goddess might be. Her soft rounded belly rose and fell excitedly as Anne lowered her head to taste her for the first time. It was mysterious terrain to navigate. Anne brought a finger to her black curls in order to part them when Diana grabbed her hand and plunged her finger inside her. Anne froze, unable to understand how something so silken and open could hold her so tightly. Quickly she withdrew her finger and just as quickly Diana pushed it in again.

"Do that, darling, do it just like that, I want you inside me," Diana pleaded.

"Won't I hurt you?" Anne asked, thinking of how different this was to the tender sensations Diana's mouth had offered her.

"Only the very merest bit. If you really were Mr Darcy I'm sure he wouldn't be half so careful."

At this Anne felt a pang of jealousy, wondering if her dearest love really would prefer Mr Darcy to her own self, and determined to prove herself every bit the lover he was, she withdrew her finger before plunging it firmly inside her. At this Diana groaned, and feeling about for her pillow stuffed a corner into her mouth. She drove herself hard against each thrust, until Anne's hand became slick and fragrant. Then just when it seemed the pillow was about to be devoured Anne removed her finger and began nuzzling Diana with her tongue and her lips, lapping her lovingly until her friend found calm once more.

When Diana was quiet Anne slid up her body and nestled against her arm, taking in sensuous aroma of her lover, and nuzzling her ear with sweet nothings.

"I adore you," she murmured, staring into Diana's flushed face and brushing her damp hair away from her cheek. As she did so Diana caught Anne's finger in her mouth and sucked it slowly. Then Anne withdrew her wet fingertip and circled Diana's nipples till they glistened in the candlelight.

"Oh," Diana sighed, "I never dreamed such bliss was possible. How can _any_ man compare to you!"

"They can't," Anne said, frankly. She reached for Diana's hand and lay her head by her friend. "All the same it would be _terribly_ bad mannered if I didn't introduce you to Mr Knightley."

Diana giggled and pulled the quilt over them both.

"Well... I suppose it couldn't hurt just to meet him," she said, and extinguished the bedside lamp.

"Perhaps only the _merest_ bit," Anne murmured, feeling for Diana's mouth in the darkness and gently biting her bottom lip.

"You'll pay for that, Mr Knightley," Diana hissed, rolling on top of her.

"I am at your command, Miss Woodhouse," Anne sighed, and threw back the covers once more.


	2. Phil and Gilbert

**PHIL & GILBERT**

Philippa Gordon peered in the mirror above the mantle at Patty's Place. "Hair up or hair down?" she wondered, eyeing herself with a critical gaze.

An 'up do' was certainly more sophisticated. Was there anything more alluring than a dark tendril of hair snaking down her creamy neck? There wasn't a Victim she knew who could resist the temptation to reach out caress her divine little curls. And that was what this evening was about. _Temptation._

She piled her hair high on her crown, admiring the way her firm, high breasts threatened to spill from her low cut gown.

"If only I could manage a way to walk around with my hands in my hair he would melt in a moment," she said to herself. "Then again he _does_ prefer an unfussy sort of girl... Perhaps I _will_ wear it down, instead-"

She might have preened in front of the fireplace for the next half hour, but a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She dropped her dark tresses over her bare shoulders, a tiny frown marring her perfect features.

'He _would_ be on time,' she grumbled, and turning from the blazing fire called, "It's open!"

Gilbert Blythe poked his head around the door.

"Evening, Phil, is Anne ready?"

"Do shut the door, darling," Phil said, "It's so cold out, why don't you come in and warm yourself up."

It sounded more like a command than a suggestion, though Gilbert hardly needed enticement. He was cold, his coat was thin and underneath he was wearing his dinner suit. He wished he'd decided to put on a sweater -though the effect would have been awful at least he would have prevented his teeth chattering. Perhaps it would be wise to warm up, the last thing he wanted was for Anne to think he was nervous. No, he must never be nervous, or eager, or sentimental, or brusque. He must be the same reliable chum she wanted him to be. It was that or nothing at all.

Gilbert strode over to the fire and began to rub his hands.

"Is she upstairs, I know I'm a little early-"

"You're _always_ early. It's not a good look, you know, Gil," Phil said, arching her brows, teasingly. "You want to make Queen Anne wait on _you_ , sometimes."

"It's my wholesome Island upbringing," Gilbert said, dryly.

He was used to being ribbed by Phil for what she called his ' _un_ wholesome adoration of Anne'. Though what truly irked Miss Gordon was that she expected to be the only woman worthy of adoring.

Tonight she might have earned that right. It had not escaped Gilbert's attention that Phil was looking particularly beautiful. Unconsciously, his eyes fell to her breasts which seemed about to burst the buttons her red silk gown. Consciously, Phil looked away so that Gilbert could look as long as he wanted. She pulled in her stomach, knowing her breasts would rise and swell even more as she did so. Oh, it was delectable to have his hazel eyes on her for a change, and she smiled to herself when she heard Gilbert exhale loudly. The poor boy. Saving himself for Anne, who had no more idea of taking him for a lover than Charlie Sloane! Well, Philippa Gordon meant to do something about _that_ -and do it thoroughly.

"As we're waiting there's a tiny job I was hoping you might help me with-" Phil began.

Gilbert unbuttoned his coat before she could finish, and removed his dinner jacket.

"So long as you don't want me to move your piano again, or chop a load of wood," he said, laughing, and followed Phil into her bedroom.

He had been in this room on many occasions, nearly all of them due to Miss Gordon needing a hefty piece of furniture rearranged. He didn't have to wonder why this minx never asked the infamous Alec and Alonzo to assist her. Gilbert knew very well she considered him a rough and rude Island boy, fit for nothing but to do her bidding. Most of the time he took it in good fun. But there were other times -tonight being one of them- when he would like nothing better than to whip up her expensive silks and give her a good spanking.

Phil seemed to read his thoughts and bent over slowly to retrieve a hat box that lay by her armoire. With her back to him Gilbert allowed himself to admire her shapely rump, and felt his hand itch to lay a sound wallop upon it.

"You're thinking how much you'd like to paddle my behind, aren't you Gilbert Blythe?" Phil said, slowly, her hips swaying as she flicked though the items in the box.

The clever retorts stuck to the roof of his mouth. Gilbert took as step back into the door and it slammed shut behind him.

"S-sorry?"

Phil stood up and turned to face him, her dimples deep with mischief. She walked over to Gilbert purposefully, with a handful of cards in her hand.

"I said would you like to paddle my behind?"

Gilbert blushed to the roots of his hair. "What- whatever gave you that impression?" he stammered.

Phil smiled demurely. "Because you can't take your eyes off me... And you hate me for it."

"Why would I hate you for it?" Gilbert said, hardly believing he was in Phil's room... feeling Phil's heaving bosom press against his arm... having _this_ conversation.

Phil laughed. "Because you're saving yourself for Anne, of course!"

Gilbert pulled away from her, remembering that right now that Anne was in the room above and would be coming down the stairs at any moment. He could see her face now, cut with a clear disappointment. One that would not be directed toward Phil, but toward him. A mix of anger and frustration welled up inside, because it was true. He was waiting for Anne, he would probably wait forever. In the mean time he was twenty-two years old and hadn't bedded a girl since he was sixteen, and now Phil was mocking him for it.

He straightened his bow tie impatiently and glared at her.

"If that was all, Philippa, I think I'll wait for Anne in the parlour-"

"No!" Phil said, suddenly contrite. "I went too far, I do that, you know... haven't had the benefit of your _wholesome_ upbringing." She gave Gilbert a winning smile. "The thing is, darling -the thing is..." she paused again until Gilbert felt compelled to urge her on. "Oh, I _can't_ say this with you looking at me like my Papa. Come," she commanded, and motioned Gilbert to sit with her on her enormous bed -it really did take up half the room. "I have something I want to show you."

Gilbert sighed, and sat beside her, as footsteps could be heard on the stairwell.

"Stay where you are," Phil hissed, "I need to have a private word with the girls before they leave-"

She forced the cards into Gilbert's hands and fled the room.

For a moment he could hear Aunt Jimsie, Stella and Priss chatting with Phil. Then every sense he possessed seemed to fail him completely. It couldn't... it couldn't be... it wasn't possible... Gilbert shuffled through the cards as though they had been dipped in acid. He was holding six photographs of Phil, and in every one she was naked. Well, there might be a pair of stockings here, a transparent scarf there, but for the most part Philippa Gordon was wearing nothing at all.

He dropped the photographs onto the bed, and then quickly picked them up. Forgetting where he was or even who he was waiting for as he studied each breathtaking image. Phil reclining on a chaise, straddling a chair, sitting on a swing, wearing a long string of pearls. Her dark nipples, her darker triangle, and the darkest curve dividing her small, round bottom. The way her stockings nestled underneath each satiny cheek, the way her thighs spilled over their tops. The way she stared into the camera, her eyes closing and her mouth opening. He had never seen anything more erotic in his life.

When Phil re-entered the room she found Gilbert just as she hoped she would. She closed the door carefully and knelt at his feet, resting her hands lightly on his back trousers. Had he looked at her he would have been rewarded with the sumptuous view of Phil's breasts.

"Phil-" Gilbert said, hoarsely, "Phil, did you... Did you mean me to see those photographs? Because I did -I did, and I don't know what to say- When did you take these? Who on earth took these? Has anyone else seen them... Anne-"

"Anne's not here, darling,' Phil said, gently, and seeing that Gilbert did not comprehend her meaning, continued. "She left an hour ago... with a fellow from the Philomathic... I didn't know how to tell you-"

Neither did she know how to tell Gilbert that Anne had left with Monty Watson at Phil's insistence, after ensuring her that she and Gilbert would join them at the Ball later.

"Anne left with another man?' Gilbert repeated, "I-I don't understand, what is this all about? You let me think that Anne was here... You invite me into your room... You ask me if I want to paddle your backside for God's sake! And now _these_ -" he said, gesturing to the cards.

"Alonzo took them of me," Phil said matter-of-factly. She picked one up, it was the one with the pearls, and smiled. "Those are his great-aunt's. I always get the giggles when I see her wear them now-"

"But why show them to me... You meant for me to see them, didn't you?" Gilbert said.

His frustration and anger were rising -and something else as well. And Phil Gordon kneeling at his feet offering a view of her superb cleavage wasn't helping.

"I thought you'd like them," Phil said, simply.

The impressive bulge in Gilbert's trousers hadn't escaped her notice either. She had planned to tell Gilbert that she was being blackmailed with these images. That they had been taken long ago when she was young and naïve, and hoped his pity might weaken his defenses. But now she knew she needed no such schemes. Gilbert Blythe wanted her, it was as plain as the perfect nose on his impossibly handsome face.

She slid her hand further up his thigh and gripped him, firmly. He didn't try to stop her, in fact she thought she noticed his legs part a fraction wider. His voice, however, was cold.

"What are you doing?"

"A giant favour for a good friend," Phil purred, sliding her had over him with an expert and exquisite motion.

"Phil, you should know I don't love you, I -I can never love you-"

His words might have hurt if she hadn't heard his voice crack, as desire began to overcome sense. She slid her hand up to his chest and pushed him onto her bed. Then stood between his open legs and slowly unbuttoned her gown.

"Phil-" was all he managed to say, transfixed by the sight of those disgracefully delightful photographs coming to life in front of him.

Phil was just as entranced. How many times had she pictured this moment? When the adoring, gorgeous, up right, so _very very_ upright, Gilbert Blythe would finally give in to all the stifled passion she saw in him. The thought of his desire pushed down and denied, week after week, month after month. Nothing else brought her to a stronger climax than when she recollected his burning eyes as she pleasured herself at night. She would imagine him on his knees in gratitude, in thrall to her every fantasy. The sight of him now in his white shirt and tie, erect, waiting and gazing at her made her more wet than she already was.

She began to unfasten her corset.

"Don't-" Gilbert muttered.

Phil looked down at him and smirked.

"Oh, honey, let me guess. You're going to tell me this is a mistake, that you could never forgive yourself, or offer me some hokey Island line you say you believe in. But I _won't_ believe you, I _don't_ believe you. I know very well that you want-"

Phil was cut short as Gilbert sat up and grasped her petticoats and yanked them down.

" _Don't_ bother going to the trouble of removing every article you've trussed yourself in. I've already seen you naked, and since this is clearly what you've been angling for I won't make you wait another minute."

He flicked off his suspenders and lowered his trousers and underpants over his hips, revealing himself to her, unashamedly.

"Is this what you wanted?" he said, falling back onto the bed.

His eyes were hot and angry and Phil had never wanted him more. She flung herself onto him, kissing him greedily, their mouths a clash of teeth and tongues as their bodies attacked one another. He ripped open her bodice. Her delectable breasts tumbled out, and he crammed her hard brown nipple into his mouth, sucking it like a cherry stone. His hands ran over her thighs to the opening in the crotch of her bloomers. For a moment he recalled his shock on discovering this at fourteen, when one of the Gillis girls dared him to touch her belly button. He crept his fingers up her thigh never knowing that the two legs of a pair of women's bloomers weren't sewn together. What he discovered next wasn't Myra's belly button.

His fingers pulled the opening wide, Phil was swollen and wet and he glided inside her easily. On another day he would have liked to take his time and watch her writhe. But he had to admit he was bursting for her now and without letting his mouth leave hers, he grasped her hips and positioned her over himself.

Phil sighed as she felt the tip of him pressing against her. There was one terrible second when she worried he might be too big, that she wouldn't be able to take every delectable inch. Then just as quickly the thought excited her. She was so bored with the delicate, careful way Alonzo made love to her. Alec wouldn't even do that. What she longed for was to have a man plunge into her so she felt him in her throat. No, not _a_ man. _This_ man. This bundle of repressed desire and outrageous beauty. His muscular body, his vigorous strength, he was different to any man she'd known.

She attempted to lower herself onto him, but he was too strong, gripping her hips determinedly so that she was unable to move.

"For pities sake, Gil," Phil said, sharply, "don't make me beg."

Something about those words made Gilbert stop. He stared up at the girl in his arms, her breasts freed from her corset, her stockings round her ankles, her bloomers gaping wide. And her face, her dark eyed, taunting face, panting for him, desperately. Phil Gordon, who mocked him for his good manners and his thoughtfulness, who teased him with her questions and her photographs. And here she was, straddling him, trying to control him. No, if she wanted him how much the sweeter for it to be on his terms.

Callously, he slid himself from under her and she fell face down onto the bed.

"Don't move," he said.

Phil couldn't move, she was pounded down by ferocious desire. Never knowing until this moment the sheer bliss to be had in taking orders. It was always she who was having to wangle this, manipulate that. Now she lay on her stomach, feeling drenched with mounting excitement, as she felt Gilbert tear her bloomers from her and smooth his broad, brown hands over her bottom.

"Get on your knees," he murmured, and then closed his eyes for a moment willing himself to stay in control as he ran his hand between each cheek and down her glistening thighs.

"You've wanted this for a long time..." Gilbert said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"Yes," she whispered.

"And now it's finally happening."

"Yes -oh yes," she moaned.

"You just have to do one thing for me."

"Anything, anything-"

Gilbert grinned and slid his hands up her back.

"Say please."

Phil groaned and arched her back. Her arms were becoming tired and she slumped onto her elbows. Gilbert exhaled hotly at the sight of her yielding to him, it was all he could do not to thrust into her immediately. Then he heard her 'please', not once but over and over again. A broken, urgent, lustful please that, impossible as it seemed, made him harder still. When he entered her it almost hurt, but it was an agony he wanted to linger in for as long as he could. Slowly, they discovered their rhythm, until his hands were at her shoulders and he rocked her against him, roughly. Perspiration beaded on his face and he felt Phil's shoulders become damp with exertion. Her head was low and so were her moans, so lost was she to this moment.

But for Gilbert this was all too real. What had thrilled him before began to appall him. What was he doing? He didn't love Phil -could _never_ love Phil. It was Anne he wanted. Now perhaps he would never have her. He closed his eyes and it was red hair he saw, not brown. And her high sweet voice calling for him, not Phil's low growls. It was her slender body he was thrusting inside, it was she who surrendered to him, who wanted him, who begged for him... And his body came to believe it, as the deepest sensations of pleasure built up in his spine and his hips. He only just managed to pull out in time before he released a deep and heartfelt groan and spent himself all over Phil's back.

He reached his arms around her waist, pulling her into him, and they fell on the bed, heaving for breath. When he was sure Phil was asleep he left her side and quietly began to dress himself. He was at the door, his shoes in his hands and his tie hanging lose around his neck when he heard Phil stir.

"I think we ought to pretend this didn't happen-" Gilbert began.

"It didn't," Phil responded.

"It's not that I regret it, Phil-"

"Honestly honey, there is nothing to regret," said Phil, sounding her most Phil-ish once more. "It didn't happen. I know it didn't happen because you never bedded me... you bedded Anne."

Gilbert stared at the girl sprawled out on the crumpled quilt and dropped a shoe. Phil bent over the edge of the bed, picked it up, and then threw it at his head.

"I heard you, you dolt, I heard you say her name. It doesn't matter how many times I take you into my bed I will _never_ have you!"

"Phil, I'm sorry-"

"Ugh, spare me your perfect manners and leave. And don't you dare say a word about this to anyone."

Gilbert shuffled after it, threw on his coat and walked out of Patty's Place, knowing that was one thing Phil would never have to demand of him.


	3. Priscilla, Stella and Gilbert

**PRISCILLA, STELLA & GILBERT**

Thin, grey light slid through the half closed curtains. Priscilla Grant turned her face away and groaned.

"It couldn't be morning already..."

Her head pounded and her throat was dry. Why had she had all that champagne last night? She pounded the feathers in her pillow determined to catch another hour of sleep, when she heard a small voice.

"Hey! Mind where you're putting that great big fist," said Stella, crossly. "My hair is on your pillow."

"You are my pillow," added another, dozily. He nuzzled his head on Stella's breast.

"Gilbert Blythe, what are you doing here?" Stella muttered, tucking his curls away from her face.

"Sleeping," he mumbled.

"And before that?"

"Carrying you two drunkards up the stairs. You both swore you couldn't go another step, remember?"

His breath still smelled of alcohol, and he brought his hand to Stella's small breast and cupped it, comfortably.

"You make the best bed, Miss Maynard."

Priscilla stared at them; Gilbert's sleeping face belying the fact he was stealthily slipping his fingers inside Stella's chemise. His large brown hand caressed her silently. Stella made a soft sigh, but other than she that showed no signs she had noticed at all. Priss's headache was forgotten as she watched them. Pressing her thighs tightly against a sudden flood of want; for Gilbert to place his hands on her; for Stella to watch; to be the one who touched her sweet, round breasts.

She had seen them before. It was only natural when they shared a room. And hardly her fault if she noticed her friend dry her hair in front of the fire in a scrap of towel, or if Stella chose to wear nightgowns made of transparent fabric that revealed her every secret. Priscilla longed to see her coral coloured nipples... watch Gilbert kiss them... kiss them herself. Exhaling deeply she brought her hand to the strap of Stella's chemise and slowly drew it down to her elbow. Gilbert's hand almost covered Stella completely, he was kneading her as a baker kneads bread. She put her mouth to Priss's ear and whispered, hotly.

"What a ruffian he is. I'm sure you'd be much more gentle."

Priscilla needed no more encouragement and prised Gilbert's hand away.

"Like this, you oaf," she said, and drew her lips to Stella's stiffened nipple and kissed it reverently.

A groan came from all three of them; the two girls because each had secretly longed to do this for many months, and Gilbert because he had never seen anyone kiss another's breast before. He had already been hard for some time and quickly unbuttoned his trousers, flinging them to a floor strewn with dresses and shoes. It did little to relieve him, and watching Priss tease and lick Stella's breast, her neck, her mouth, made him harder still. Unable to resist, he pulled the chemise down past Stella's ribs and helped himself.

His mouth was ferocious and sucked on her greedily. Unable to concentrate Stella tore herself away from Priscilla's mouth, who happily returned to her breast, licking her swollen areolas, and flicking her tongue in short, firm strokes. It felt more blissful still. Stella attempted to stifle her cries but the sight of her two friends feasting on her made her hot, achey and wet. She often suspected Priss had feelings for Gil, but of course he was always mooning over Anne. Stella wondered what might happen she nudged them together.

Gilbert felt Stella's hand at the back of his head, he knew what she wanted but was unsure Priss would agree. Her attentions until this moment had been entirely focussed on the girl between them. He'd heard some girls were like that, and had no ambition to help them 'change their mind'. Though he thought her a handsome woman, he never thought of wooing Priscilla the way he had his other friends. Not a day passed since he was sixteen when he didn't imagine bedding Anne Shirley. And there wasn't a man (or probably a woman) who didn't dream of undressing Philippa Gordon. As for Stella, he knew his mischief had risked him being struck on the head with the chamber pot. But he also knew where he stood with her. Stella was small and feisty, with great dark eyes and a fearless wit. The sort of woman he felt comfortable with.

Priss on the other hand, was nearly as tall as he was. There was something almost masculine about her, so that he often felt uneasy when he found himself admiring her narrow hips and shapely shoulders. What he didn't want to admit was that perhaps kissing her, feeling her long limbs wrapped around him, might feel somewhat like being with a man.

Priscilla lifted her head and seeing Gilbert's sleepy hazel eyes gaze at her, pulled him toward her urgently. Unuttered desires collided as they rose to their knees, looming over Stella as she watched them with a growing anticipation.

Quickly Stella removed herself from between them and then knelt behind Priss and lifted her petticoat over her head, before deftly removing her corset. The moment she was freed Gilbert fell upon her, grinding himself against her belly as he bit and nipped her throat. Priss drew her legs around him, and Gilbert shuddered with excitement, at how different she was, how inexpressibly wicked it felt to be enveloped by someone the same size as he was. Her breasts were even smaller than Stella's, as she lay on her back they all but disappeared. Gilbert ripped the shirt from his arms and rammed his bare torso against her own.

She was easily able to manage his strength, and took her advantage after biting his nipples by pinning him onto his back. He grabbed at her desperately, wanting to maintain his dominance, and flung Priscilla onto the mattress, pressing his mouth onto hers. Breaking for air he muttered, breathlessly.

"My God, Priss, I can't get enough of you, this is... this is..."

"Do shut up, Gil," Priss said. "The sun will be up in a minute and Patty's Place will awake."

"In the mean time," Stella giggled, "something else has been up for a very long time."

The two girls exchanged a look. Without another word Priss pushed Gilbert onto his back while Stella pulled down his underwear. They stared at him, wonderingly. How had something so thick and throbbing fitted inside his cotton briefs? It reared up against his hard stomach, the tip gleaming. Without thinking Priss lowered her head and licked it, causing Gilbert to almost wail.

"You're not- oh Priss. Please... tell me you're not-" he gasped, clutching at her shoulders.

Priss gave him a cheeky grin and then positioning herself between his strong thighs took Gilbert into her mouth.

Her lips and tongue descended and Gilbert writhed helplessly, grabbing at Stella. She fell alongside him and smothered his sounds with kisses, as Priss's head bobbed up and down. The motion soon made her head ache again and she stopped to watch her chums canoodling. Gilbert's eyes were closed tight while Stella's were open. Her brown eyes twinkling with curiosity at how the mighty Gilbert Blythe had suddenly found himself at the mercy of two girls.

With the absence Priss's lips upon him Gilbert felt a measure of control and moved his hand over Stella's breasts and belly, and reached between her legs. She felt so small against him he was afraid he would hurt her and withdrawing his fingers, he shuffled down until her dark little mound was made even warmer by his quickening breaths.

He had always adored kissing women here and Stella did not disappoint. Beyond her sparse curls he found another hot sweet mouth, but this one swelled and pulsed under his tongue. She was slippery as honey, salty as the sea. Just as it was with Priss, he couldn't get enough and sighed happily as he explored her silken depths. He felt Priss's head by his own, who parted Stella's thighs even wider, before joining him. Stella trembled all the more when she realised Priss was kissing her, pressing her blonde head against her, firmly, so that Gilbert was crowded out. He pulled away, more dazed than ever, as he watched Stella writhe.

"Oh, Priss... my darling -please, _yes_ -" she murmured, rocking over the crumpled blankets and whimpering desperately.

For months now she had she brought herself to climax by pretending it was Priscilla's lips that brought her such joy. Surely it did no harm to want her chum as much as she did? To want her more than Gilbert or any other boy? Just Priss, her darling, Priss. Who always knew just how to touch her, to hold her, to love her.

Gilbert lay by the two girls, his eyes unable to take in the beauty he was witnessing. Stella seemed so overcome she was shaking. He smoothed her dark hair tenderly, and lay small kisses on her flushed cheek,. But she was oblivious to everything but Priscilla, and soon began gripping her friend's head between her thighs and panting loudly. Again Gilbert pressed his mouth upon hers, hoping to muffle her noises, and she sucked on his lips and tongue until her body went limp.

"Sweet girl, come here -come to my arms," Stella said, shakily, motioning to Priscilla.

"I've never done anything like that before... never thought it possible," Priss said. She brought her damp and fragrant face to Stella's and kissed her.

"What can I do? I'll do anything - _anything_ ," Stella said, and went to sit up, in order to return the favour.

Priscilla pulled her back.

"No, no, stay here with me. Kiss me... hold me" she said, softly.

When he heard this Gilbert suddenly felt conspicuous. He would have happily laid next to these two and watched them take delight in each other all day. Yes, he was uncomfortably hard and longed to relieve his desire, but for now he was content to gaze at his friends in awe.

Priss had other ideas. She turned to Gilbert and said to him, "It's you that I want."

Gilbert's mouth went dry. The light in the window went from grey to gold. He saw the look in her dark blue eyes and knew what she was asking of him.

"Are you certain?" he said, hardly able to wait for her answer before he fell upon her.

Again he felt her long legs wrap around his back. Again he felt an unconscionable thrill as her breasts flattened. He took in her wide collarbones and her firm, flat stomach. She was the most ungirlish girl he had ever known. Stella in contrast huddled sweetly next to her, her dark eyes wide with excitement. She wrapped her thin arm around Priss's neck and wove her fingers with her friend's.

As he held himself above them Gilbert had the incredible sensation that we was about to make love to two women at once. It was too much, too much... He felt himself about to burst. To see Stella nuzzle Priss's ear and snake her tongue down to her breasts; to feel of Priss beneath him, so hot and slick, made him almost lose control.

He doubted he could last more than a few minutes, and so hard he wondered if Priss could take him. Instead he slid inside her with the merest sense of resistance. She was so open and satiny soft after three of four strokes Gilbert knew he no longer needed to hold himself back. He bent his head to kiss her, then Stella, then watched as they began to kiss each other. All the while he moved in and out, swiftly and deeply, never wanting it to end.

It was with no little anguish that he pulled out hastily and scrambled into the closet when a knock was heard on the bedroom door. He pressed himself against winter coats and ball gowns craning to hear who had come in. He heard giggles first and then Stella's voice. For a few minutes more there was sickening silence, then Priscilla opened the closet door.

"It's alright, Gil, it was just Stella's aunt. Apparently there's an enormous spider looming above her bed."

She was wrapped in a sheet and folded it around Gilbert. Her blue eyes met him directly while her hands slid between his thighs. He felt her hand gripping him purposefully, sliding over his length. Gilbert winced, having been on the verge for so long now it almost hurt to be touched.

As if she knew this Priscilla fell to her knees, taking him into her mouth once more. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, terrified of being caught, of being heard, yet it was beyond his power to deny himself anymore. Gilbert watched her suck and kiss him, her long hair tangled down her back. The closet filled with the musky fragrance of sex. He grabbed at the rail behind his neck, clutching it urgently as he tried to prevent himself climaxing.

Priscilla could sense the tension mounting in him, her legs were stiff and his eyes squeezed tight. She stopped for a moment and looked up at him.

"Let go, you, ninny. I want you to," she whispered.

"No, it's not right, it's not right-" Gilbert said, hoarsely; knowing in his heart that all he wanted to do was release himself into her hot, wet mouth.

He felt her hands grab his hips as she crammed even more inside her.

"Oh Priss, please- you've got to stop-" Gilbert pleaded, gripping at the rail until he was afraid he would tear it down.

Priss redoubled her efforts and took the entire length of him into her throat. It was then Gilbert knew he had no chance and gave in willingly. A river of want flooded his body and Priss took every drop.

Slowly she drew herself up, her damp brow touching Gilbert's, a sleepy smile on her face.

"You've done that before," Gilbert said, shakily.

"I'm surprised you haven't," Priss replied.

He brought his hand to her face.

"You're no virgin either, are you, Miss Grant?"

"Neither are you, Mr Blythe."

She drew her lips to his, he was reluctant to kiss her at first, afraid of how it might make him feel. But as he felt her tongue softly flick his bottom lip, he opened his mouth and kissed her deeply. She drew back after a moment and twitted his nose.

"Nothing to be afraid of, Gil. We;re the same, you and me."

Gilbert nodded mutely as she reached for his hand and squeezed it. If he could only love her, how much simpler life would be.

"Now," she said flinging open the closet door, "do you think there is a dress of mine you might fit? I think it might be the only way we'll be able to sneak you out of here."

"So long as promise to sneak me back in," he said, and looked out the window to size up a likely tree that might help him make his escape.


End file.
